


an angel walked up to my door (opened the windows to my soul)

by blue_roses



Series: for him (i'd wait, i'd wander) [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Second Person, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 07:24:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8153845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_roses/pseuds/blue_roses
Summary: “I love you,” he says, it’s between three and four in the afternoon. It’s when you transition between early and later afternoon, when you fall in love all over again. His arms are wrapped around your waist. There’s no end, or a beginning, either. There’s only repetition, overlaying, melding together. You’re so close, and you let your soul open up to him, because he was the one who gave you the strength to do so. You’ll do it for him: you can wait, you can wander. But for now, all you need to do is hold him close. There’s nothing you’d rather do.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I DID A SEQUEL...for the shallura wedding. again, kay and hiro, w cindy are my enablers. i hope this manages to flow well w its prequel!!! title from W.A.Y.S. by jhene aiko!!! C: comment and leave kudos if u like it (i literally teared up @ the ones for toronto)!!!

  The love of your life proposes to you on a Friday afternoon. It’s not particularly grand, he comes home from the airport, from the nearest other side of the world, and leans into you. You say  _ welcome home _ and he doesn’t even get his shoes off before mumbling into your shoulder. 

 “Get some rest,” you say, it’s not a request. He shakes his head.

 “I will if you marry me,” he says. You almost don’t hear him. He smells like sweat and his breath is warm and you love him so, so much. There’s no way you can say no to that, even if you wanted to. He’s been tentative with you, always waiting for the first touch. You took steps forward, always. You have a ring in your back pocket, you measured his prosthetic while he was in the shower, always kept the ring on you. You draw it out with the hand that isn’t wrapped around his back.

 “Only if you marry me first,” you say, and you slip the ring on his finger with a delicacy you usually don’t allow yourself. You can still feel is intake of breath as he leans on your shoulder. You feel him kick off his shoes, see him look down at the silver band. He chuckles, before pulling out ring, silver as well, and slipping it on your finger. 

 “What kind of wedding do you want?” he asks, you take his hand and lead him towards your room. You’re going to make sure he rests, or maybe you’ll just have your wicked way with him. An engaged woman has her privileges, after all. 

 “I want my brother to be there,” he says, he’s still close to your collarbone, so he plants kisses. Slow, lazy, and you lean back to indulge him. 

 “We can do that,” you say, “Takashi, we can do anything in the world.” You have the space, the blocks to build up a life with him. You’ve been waiting, since he shows up, between three and four in the afternoon, when you knew you were in love with him. He tells you, repeatedly, that he fell in love with you when he saw the way you talked about home. He never goes into specifics, you don’t ask him to. Maybe that will be in the vows, if you want to think so far or so closely in time. 

 His hairs spin through your hair as he kisses along your collarbone, you take off his shirt, and let you wind into him. Slowly, because you have all the time in the world. You’ll have all the time in the world. 

 Four months later, you do  _ not  _ have all the time in the world. The morning after, he got a call from his brother, saying he and his friends (and new boyfriend) would be coming to Tokyo. He didn’t expect it, but you understood it. If anyone spent time with Takashi Shirogane, they too would want to move heaven and earth for him. 

 After that, the planning begins. Coran immediately goes into planning mode, you have a feeling he’s been thinking about this before you. He said he wants to go to a see you on a Monday afternoon, and you called your boss to say you were going to be planning your wedding. In front of you was an Altean style wedding dress, and you cried, and cried, and cried again. 

 “I’ll cover the Altean aspects Princess, they don’t call me the Coranic for nothing,” he gave you a self assured look, but his eyes were so warm. You were hugging him before you knew it, and he took on a task to bring a lost home to a wedding. You didn’t know what you did to be so blessed. 

 Even then, even with you working hard to plan a wedding, it was a fact that you and Shiro are overworked and overstressed. Coran can’t do everything (he won’t show you what he has until he’s finished), and both of you liked being in control. Your own wedding shouldn’t be the case, but it is, and you’re so, so tired. A month before the wedding, Coran sends you both a series of folders and files. You might have teared up, but so does Shiro. Two weeks before the wedding, you make sure your dress fits. You’re told you have a photographer and stylist for the day. Half a week later, Shiro tells you his brother is flying tomorrow morning.

 “Is he going to be okay?” you ask, “He hasn’t been on a plane since your parents....”

 “I asked him,” he says, “he was the one who wanted to fly. I trust him.” You smile, make sure to stroke his head. You’ve been stressed, both of you, but you want to meet his brother. You want to see what the three of you can do, if you can include Keith in your makeshift family. You know Shiro wants that more than anything in the world. 

 “Let’s meet him at the airport,” you say. He shakes his head. You mouth a  _ why  _ before he smiles and lets you lean against him at the dining room table. 

 “He says he wants to surprise me? He had the whole smug little shit voice, and I knew he’d find a way to avoid me finding him,” Shiro sighs, “Keith’s always been good at hiding.” 

  “And you’ve said you’re good at finding him,” you say. 

  “True,” Shiro says, “but I don’t think I will this time.” You nod into him. Later he’ll make tea, one of the three things he can make without it burning. He reminds you his brother inherited his lack of skills, you tell him you hope his brother doesn’t share his appetite. He laughs, and you spend the first afternoon in a long time lazing around in the springtime sunshine. 

 You don’t relax after that. You and Shiro are both stressed, there’s barely enough time to be a couple when you’re making reservations and making sure everything is as perfect as can be. He’d say not to worry about it, but he’s doing the exact same thing. You both prefer it when everything goes smoothly. You reassure each other on the day he prays to his parents and you talk about your father. The day before, Coran whisks you away to go to a spa, get yourself ready. Shiro is banned from the premises, Coran insists you stay at his apartment. Ridiculous, but you do want him to see you differently. 

  “Your father would be so happy for you,” Coran says. He’s drinking rum with his coffee, he thinks you don’t know he does this. You’ve known since he and your father started living together. 

  “So you’ll walk me down?” you ask. You sound so hesitant, and Coran looks at you with wide eyes that change into a broad smile. 

   “Who are you kidding? I’d do it even if you begged me not to!” From then, you two indulge in memories and speak Altean until you forget how to speak English. He’s only in Japan for you, and you’re still learning the language, but you think you’re in Altea for a moment. So when Shiro calls you, it takes you a moment to respond. 

 “I miss you,” he says.

 “I miss you too,” you say, “But at least I’ll look rather nice tomorrow.”

 “You’re always beautiful,” you can feel his smile, “but I am looking forward to it...that’s an understatement. I can barely breathe thinking about this,  _ us.  _ Don’t expect me to live long after seeing you.” 

  “I’m sure you won’t be too bad looking yourself,” you chuckle. You don’t need to tell him you know he’ll be radiant, you’ll want to swoon like a teenage girl. Your soul will unravel all over again and you won’t be able to find the words. You know this, and he knows it, in his own way. 

 “I love you, Allura,” he says, “let’s get some rest. We’re getting married tomorrow after all.”

 “We shouldn’t be late to our own wedding,” you say, “I love you Takashi. I can’t wait to prove it in a large ceremony, what about you?”

  “You know me,” he says. And you can agree. It takes you both a moment, and Coran a couple reminders to sleep, for you to hang up the phone and go to bed. You dream of him, of growing old with him, and your feet are still as warm as your heart. 

  The day of your wedding, you see a man setting up a tripod while you’re taking a breather. You’re in a flower field, one Coran somehow managed to rent. How Coran did anything is still beyond you, but you can’t say you aren’t grateful. You will always be grateful.

  “Oh,” he looks up and smiles, “so  _ you’re  _ the lucky lady! You know you should be getting ready, this is your wedding you know.”

  You laugh, “I’m perfectly aware of that. And you are?”

  He stands up, he’s tall. Brown skin, blue eyes, a smile that could border on cocky depending of the mood. Something tells you you’ll get along with him the moment he extends his hand. 

  “Hello Allura,” he says, “I’m just the wedding photographer. My assistant’s going to come and get me some more equipment, need to take some shots of the scenery, yeah?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” you say, “shouldn’t you be helping your assistant?”

   The wedding photographer shakes his head, “Nah. He’s stronger than me, and also doesn’t know how to work a damn camera. He takes science defyingly blurry shots, it’s kind of amazing. So he does the lifting, I do the actual work.”

  “It seems like he owes you a favor, doing all that lifting,” you wonder if the photographer is the crafty type. You wouldn’t be surprised. You are, however, surprised by his response. 

  “No duh,” he says, “he’s my boyfriend. He already owes me on that basis for dating him.” Even with his words, you see the warmth in his expression. You smile back, even though he’s smiling at the thought of something else. 

  “Anywho,” the photographer clears his throat, “ _ you,  _ Miss Bride, have gotta go. It’s your wedding, you gotta knock your man’s socks off!”

  “Damn right I do,” you say. You wave goodbye before going back, you’re going to get into your dress, check the plans, and then go to the stylist. It’ll be around forty minutes, you suppose. Time passes far too quickly when the world around you is completely hectic. Before you know it you’re sitting in a chair, waiting for the stylist to come.

 The man with blue eyes and brown skin comes again, hands full of brushes and liquids and powders. He gives you the same smile, and your eyebrows raise in response.

 “Who  _ are  _ you?” you ask

He leans over you, fingers hovering over your eyelids. You close them, feel him putting primer on your face. You can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “I’m the wedding stylist.” You have no idea if he’s full of it, and are prepared to do your own makeup at your own wedding until you open your eyes.

 “Shit,” you say, very eloquently. The wedding photographer or stylist is smiling behind you, and you’re about to say thank you before he stops you.

 “No you don’t,” he says, “not until I do your hair.” You nod at that, and watch im pin and curl and tie in the mirror.

 “Where did you learn all this?” you ask, “You’re doing both photography and this. Sounds like a lot.”

 “When I was a kid,” he says, “I was used to brothers and sisters who got into fights, so I’d cover them up so they wouldn’t get into trouble. My older sisters ended up coming to me for makeup when they first realized I was good at it. And when I transitions? Oooh that was weird for a bit, but it was all good in the end. Everyone thinks my sisters taught me, but it’s always been the other way around. I had to be the prettiest one after all.” 

  “Can’t relate,” you say, “what about photography though?” It’s strange, that throughout all of this, he’s never mentioned his name. 

  “That was my actual dream,” he says as he curls your hair, “wouldn’t let it go for the world. So I worked to get where I am now. The stylist thing is just a special favor.”

  “For who?” you ask. You feel his fingers brush against your hairline. You can’t believe you look so beautiful right now, you need to stay curious or else you’ll probably just ruin all his hard work. You’ve stopped being ashamed of crying, but you know you’re going to save your tears for an even happier time. 

  “You’ll see,” he laughs, “now. Girl, I gotta say, you can outshine the flash  _ anytime _ .” He can’t keep a straight face, even with the eyebrow waggle you know isn’t serious. You don’t know why you feel so sure of him, you’ve only just met him today.  

  “Don’t you have something to do, I mean, other than wasting my time?” you’re smiling, he can see it through the mirror. He brushes your hair back one last time and leans slightly closer to you. Not too close for comfort, but enough so he could tell you a secret.

  “Trust me,” he whispers, “if you can outshine the flash, you’ll shine so bright you’ll blind your man. Now, go be beautiful, you’re gonna be  _ married  _ soon.”

  You get up, he offers you his arm and you take it. You let go as soon as you stand up, look at the tall man with blue eyes and a playful smile and have a feeling you’ll see him after this.  

  “You better not steal my thunder,” you say. You give a wave before walking towards Coran. Coran, who’s wearing Altean wedding wear--the one for a father. You take his arm and feel the need to fall apart. You know your father’s watching. 

 The last thing you hear is from the man, “Couldn’t do it if I tried!” Coran gives you a look, as if he knows something you don’t. You’re not sure how to feel about it, but a good part of you doesn’t care. When the music starts, when you’re called, Coran will take you to him. The love of your life will wait, in a flower field that reminds you of a home you lost, and you know you’ll be the happiest you’ve ever been. Among other select memories, relating to nature and homes you know you’ll create. You’re not going to cry you’re not--

 He’s crying. It’s a mix of cultures, your wedding, and he takes photos of his parents and puts them nearby. He’s wearing dark blue, which you always said suited him. He’s wearing dark blue and he’s beautiful even though he’s crying. But then, so are you, so do you really have room to talk?

 Coran takes your arm, all Western style, and walks you down the field. Your eyes don’t leave his, even when they’re blurred. Coran lets you go, saying  _ be golden _ , in Altean. The actual phrase is different, more meaningful, and you follow the sun in your path and look up at the love of your life. 

  “Takashi,” you say, “I think I’ve been calling you the love of my life in my head when you showed up at my apartment saying you’d help me. You had no idea what the hell was even happening, but you said it...and I knew you meant it. You gave me a fraction of your strength and I felt like I could do anything with it. We were traveling, we were lost, and we found each other when I helped you with your groceries. I’ve had the privilege to love all of you, and for you to love all of me. I held you during your nightmares, and you did the same for me. I can say, as many times as I want, as you need, that I’ll spend the rest of my life with you in a tick. So, we better start now…” you choke up. You choke up and you don’t look down because you’re smiling and so is he. You link hands, and he’ll talk. He’ll talk and the bit of composure you maintained is going to shit. 

  “How am I…” he laughs, it’s so soft you could kiss it away, “ _ ever  _ going to top that? I had this entire thing written. I love you, I love you, I love you. You say I give you my strength, which frankly, I don’t get because you  _ are  _ my strength. There’s this entire point where I’m going to wax poetry, like how I woke up one morning and saw your face and knew I wanted to marry you. I wrote this part down: I remember the way your hair looked like a gradient against the pillowcase of the hotel room, when we just went to the U.K.. You said you wanted to travel, and I always did, as I always will. When we were on our way back to Narita, I called my brother while we were on a layover, and I told you what I needed to do. He’s here now, as are we, as are all of you. I know who I am, with you, I can be a person who loves himself, as unconditionally as you love me. For you to have me: that would be the greatest privilege to give.” Your eyes are still wet, and you’re about to do something. Kiss him senseless, show him that he opened up your soul, allowed you vulnerability, and the type of strength that comes for it. But he knows, he knows, and you see yourself and the world in his eyes. 

 You turn when you hear the opening of boxes: a man you immediately know is the mysterious brother. His hair’s pulled into a ponytail, a black suit and a deep red tie. He holds the rings in his open palm, you see his smiling face. A small smile, one you can feel the warmth from. You want to get to know him better, but first you’re going to exchange rings. You’re going to marry the love of your life.

 You slip the ring on his finger first, make sure your nails don’t scrape even though it wouldn’t hurt. It’s the delicacy, you think, that counts. Yet he manages to be gentler, his callouses brushing into your skin, light, and you want to let yourself feel. So you do, and you feel the ring around your finger.

 There’s no scripted prompt for a kiss. And if there was, there would be no need. You try to keep it chaste, he doesn’t. You definitely do a French dip, and you’re not the one leaning back. You hear Coran’s voice, music playing, and take his hands to  _ dance _ . It’s the first moment of the rest of your life. The blue of his suit, complementing the flowers, his smile, the way his arm is loose around your waist, you love him. He’s your incredible love, and he’s absolutely beautiful. 

 You steal each others’ first, second, third dances, until Coran pulls you for what he insisted was a father daughter dance even though there wasn’t one designated. Then, someone takes your arm, and you face the wedding photographer, and part time stylist. He’s wearing a suit too, black with a blue tie. You have a feeling he’s matching with someone.

 “I’m Lance,” he says, “your husband’s brother’s boyfriend. Also the wedding photographer, I’ll be back taking more before you know it.” Husband. Husband. Ah, you definitely want to get used to this. 

  “Hello Lance,” you say, “I’m Allura. Thank you for convincing Keith.” You dance fluidly, you notice, it fits the rest of the image you have of Lance.

  “Oh no,” Lance says, “he was the one who wanted to travel before. We actually showed up two weeks ago, getting ready and all. He’s been afraid for a long time, but see?” He cocks his head towards Keith and Takashi. They’re dancing, rather terribly, you can see them squabbling before bursting into laughter. 

 “I’ll thank him,” you say, “and thank you while I’m at it.”

 “No need, no need,” he says, “I’d move heaven and earth for him if he wanted, but I didn’t have to. He did this himself.”

  “I feel the same way,” you say, and as he twirls you to the man in question, you know you’re more similar than others would assume. Then, you’re facing Keith. He’s slightly shorter than you, and he looks at you with narrowed eyes. You remember he can’t dance. 

  “I can guide you,” you say, and he nods in response. So that’s what you do, he’s hesitant in his steps, but you’re both smiling the first time you manage a successful two step. He’s full on grinning by the time you do it again, and you barely need to say a word. 

 “I’m glad it’s you,” he says, “dunno how else to say it. But I am.”

 “Thank you, I’m glad you came,” you say, “and your boyfriend definitely makes a good case for you.”

  He looks away, cheeks flushed, “He didn’t have to. He’s way too good to me…”

 You smile, “That can apply to the both of us.”

 “Yeah,” he says, “it can.” He moves you to the next person, one of their friends. She’s shorter, much shorter, and her name is Katie. Or Pidge, she says either one works. She’s  a fast talker with quicker feet. You spin her far too many times to count. Then you’re with another one of Keith and Lance’s friends, Hunk. He makes sure to stay courteous, and mentions he’s danced so many times with sisters, and Lance’s, that he knows how to treat you like a sister. Something about it feels comforting, but nothing compares to when you’re back with Takashi. 

  “I love you,” he says, it’s between three and four in the afternoon. It’s when you transition between early and later afternoon, when you fall in love all over again. His arms are wrapped around your waist. There’s no end, or a beginning, either. There’s only repetition, overlaying, melding together. You’re so close, and you let your soul open up to him, because he was the one who gave you the strength to do so. You’ll do it for him: you can wait, you can wander. But for now, all you need to do is hold him close. There’s nothing you’d rather do. 

  “This is good,” he says, “this is really, really good.”

 You respond with a kiss before a  _ yes _ , and save the rest of your dances for him. Just for the home you found in his eyes, just for the skin you never want to unlearn. He opens you up again the moment he smiles, and you let yourself fly.


End file.
